


Inktober 2017: Bern Adaar

by CherryMilkshake



Series: Who would have thought you'd be a big softie? [9]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Death, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Inktober 2017, M/M, Original Character(s), Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 07:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12576780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryMilkshake/pseuds/CherryMilkshake
Summary: Tales of a Fereldan qunari with a soft heart and a fussy mage boyfriend.





	1. 23/ Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of the short things I wrote about [Bern](http://cherrymilkshake.tumblr.com/post/160672316099/x0mbi3s-a-very-large-marshmallow-for) for Inktober. 
> 
> You can read them all in number order [here](http://cherrymilkshake.tumblr.com/tagged/writing-inktober-because-i-don%27t-actually-own-any-ink/chrono).

His wishes are simple. A modest house with a garden. A mabari or two. Frequent visits with his parents. A world at peace. He is not unrealistic. He knows the world will never truly be at peace, but he also knows that to give up on that wish is to give in to despair. So he works toward his modest dreams, and keeps hope in his heart.


	2. 13/ Foolish

"Let's be foolish," Bern had said, a shy smile on his face, and warm fingers entwined with Dorian's. 

Now, morning had come, Dorian had returned to his quarters some time in the night, and Bern had no idea what that meant.

He sighed, spreading out his limbs, feeling out the pleasant aches from the night before. He'd already given Dorian jewelry (granted, it was really more _returning_ jewelry), and Dorian seemed the type to view gifts as currency, involving something being returned, instead of being freely given. 

So, no gifts yet. He pursed his lips in thought and imagined his parents. His mother also didn't much care for gifts, so mostly his father _did_ things for her, without being asked. She'd come in and he'd have dinner waiting, or he'd sprinkle their room with the lavender water she had a fondness for.

What would Dorian like? Something beyond sex. Sex was something Dorian was used to. But _romance_ … 

Bern grinned and got up, quickly dressing. 

He found Dorian in his usual library spot, a book open in his hands. But when Bern reached his side, it was clear that Dorian had been watching him from the moment he'd reached the landing. "Good day, Inquisitor," he said. "Sleep well?"

"Fabulously. I was thinking over what we discussed."

Dorian's expression shifted, something like fear and resignation creeping in. "And?" he asked. 

Bern cupped his cheek, trying to wipe that bitterness away, silently cursing those who had hurt this man before. "And I would like to spend the day together," Bern said brightly. "I imagine you already ate breakfast, but we could watch Cullen training his officers for a bit, then get lunch and maybe play chess? You'll probably win, but I've been practicing." 

Dorian's eyebrow raised toward his hairline. "Are… your advisors okay with you just taking a day like this?" 

Bern grinned. "We don't have to tell them. 'Foolish', remember?"

For a moment, Dorian seemed in a daze, before a slow smirk started on his lips. "Foolish, indeed." He held out his hands for Bern to help him up. "I bet you a sovereign Sister Nightingale catches us within the hour."

"And _I_ bet you it'll be Josephine." Bern offered the crook of his arm. "Shall we go?"

"Lead the way, amatus."


	3. 3/ Warmth

Skyhold is often cold, but no colder than the edge of the Korcari Wilds where Bern had been born. He often kept the doors to his balcony open, enjoying the brisk wind and the smell of the mountains. 

His boyfriend however, was a "hothouse orchid", as his friend so aptly put it. This meant that Dorian spent a lot of time grumbling and complaining about the cold whenever he was in Bern's quarters. 

"How do you _stand_ it?" he muttered, pulling Bern's blankets tighter around his torso. Bern, who was lounging comfortably on the couch reading over Cullen's reports, looked up at him, chuckling at the sight. Dorian's nose was even running a bit. 

With a smile, he got up and closed the doors, a grin his only warning to Dorian before he leapt into the bed, tackling his boyfriend into a tight hug. With a surprised squawk, Dorian toppled, and Bern wrapped his limbs around him. "Better?" he asked, touching his lips to Dorian's chilly nose. 

The half-amused, half-exasperated purse of his lips was cute. Bern kissed those too.

Dorian wasn't cold for long.


	4. 20/ Sheltered

It had been raining for three days now, a horrible, freezing rain that turned the ramparts dangerous and slick with ice. Bern had insisted Blackwall stay in the castle proper, in one of the guest suites. Josephine was making sure his order was enforced.

Cullen had finally patched his roof when the rain didn't stop for the first day, but even he was spending most of his time in Josephine's office, his fingers curled around a hot mug. Supplies were fine, but the cooks were carefully tracking them, just in case.

Bern had, at first, kept the windows and doors of his room closed, but that had made the air stale and stifling, so now he had two windows cracked, letting in sweet, fresh air. He'd actually caught up with his letters and reports for once, since messengers and ravens couldn't go out, so he'd moved the couch in front of the fireplace and was strumming idly at the lute Josephine had put in the space as decoration.

He'd never played a lute before, but plucking the strings made pleasant enough sounds. He heard the door open, and looked over as Dorian come up the stairs, shivering. "Kaffas, I thought I'd take a few steps outside, because the library has gotten awfully musty, but that rain is the absolute worst."

Bern chuckled. "I could've told you that, Dorian, but feel free to grab the blanket and join me."

He noted that Dorian had probably gone out on the walkway outside Leliana's roost, but then had walked down and then _up_ several flights of stairs just to visit him. He smiled as Dorian, now wrapped in his heavy coverlet like some sort of swaddled baby, plopped down beside him. 

His hair was damp. Bern couldn't resist the urge to mess it up. Surprisingly, Dorian didn't reproach him for it. Instead, he leaned into the touch before cuddling against Bern's arm. "You're just stealing my warmth, aren't you?" Bern asked wryly. 

"I neither confirm nor deny," Dorian mumbled, but he nuzzled the soft fabric of Bern's (warm, dry) undershirt with his cheek. 

Bern chuckled and decided to let him get away with it. He went back to picking out notes on the lute, putting them into pleasant combinations. He knew he could make different notes by pressing down on the neck, but so far all he'd managed were sour chords, so he stuck with the open strings for now. 

The fire crackled. Dorian breathed. Sweet, empty notes floated around them, drawn forth by a callused mercenary's hand. The rain pattered.

For this moment, there was peace. 


	5. 25/ Friend

Cassandra gaped, her eyes wide. "You want me to… what?" she asked.

Bern cleared his throat, tugging idly at his collar. "I'd like you to teach me about the Chant."

"I." Her mouth opened and closed a few times, her eyes darting around the training yard, as if she expected Varric to be hiding somewhere. "Why me?" she asked finally, her voice softening. 

"Well—" Bern began counting on his fingers. "Mother Giselle and I have… disagreements about the occupants of my bedroom, Cullen's feelings on the matter are complicated at best, and Sister Leliana frankly scares me." 

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "So I'm your last choice."

He grinned at you. "No, you were my first actually. I think your perspective as a Seeker is perhaps the most… relevant to me? Since I'm also kind of in a position of judgment and oversight. I'd like to be better grounded in my understanding of the doctrine I'm throwing my army behind."

She nodded. "A fine point. Very well. Shall we meet in the chapel tonight after dinner? Or would you prefer a more neutral location?"

"The chapel is fine. I'll see you then, Cassandra."

+++

To Bern's surprise, Cassandra seemed quite prepared. Under her arm was a copy of the Chant, dog-eared and, he soon realized, notated in Cassandra's sprawling handwriting. As he sat down in one of the pews, Cassandra spread the book open between them. "I suppose I first should ask what you know."

Bern thought back to the little human village he'd lived in a child. There had been one Chantry, but it was just kind of a small meeting house with a Chanter's Board outside. After they'd moved north, he'd seen Highever's Chantry, but never from within. He'd never quite felt welcome around the twitchy humans, still nervous from the recent coup. He'd sometimes listened to the Sisters and Brothers who had taken a vow to speak only the Chant though. "I know the Maker made the world, then left it due to the sin of man. Then, He was called back by Andraste, so he took her as his bride. She led a big war against Tevinter, but was betrayed by her husband, who was jealous of her connection to the Maker? Then, she was burned alive, but the Archon killed her while she was burning, so she suffered less. She went to the Maker's side."

Cassandra nodded. "You know the story, but what do you think it means for us? What can we learn from Andraste's example? Here, look at this passage, for example…" 

The candles burned low, some of them even snuffing out while they spoke and read together. People filtered in and out, murmuring prayers at the feet of Andraste before leaving. They all looked at the Inquisitor and the Right Hand, deep in study, with… pride, Bern thought when he met their gazes with his own. He smiled at them, but kept his focus on Cassandra.

"Maker preserve us, is that how late it's gotten?" she asked after a few hours, finally noticing the guttering candles. "Shall we meet again the same time next week?"

"I'd like that very much. This had been wonderful." He meant it too. 

And that night, as he climbed into bed, he was filled with a sense of wonder, and slept more deeply than he could remember in months. 


	6. 31/ Final

Bern died in a Fereldan farmhouse, two mabari on his feet, and his children at his side. Dorian had died two years prior, and Bern had never quite been the same—quieter, melancholy. He contracted pneumonia in the winter, and though his daughter, Theo, was an accomplished spirit healer, she knew this infection would be his last.

She had a spell keeping the worst of the coughing away. Her brother, Julian, sat across from her, stone-faced, his eyes red-rimmed. 

Bern coughed and struggled for breath, reaching for his children's hands. Theo renewed her spell, pushing the coughing back, and her father smiled. "Take care of the dogs, won't you?" he asked.

They nodded. Tears began to spill down Julian's cheeks. 

"I love you. Panahadan…" 

His eyes closed and his body relaxed. As they held his hands, they felt his grip slacken. Theo's spell winked out. 

The dogs shifted, snuffling at their owner's face, then whimpered and began to howl. 

The funeral was held in Val Royeaux, presided over by a small, wizened Josephine Montilyet—the last of the Inquisition's advisors. Hundreds of people gathered to bid the Inquisitor goodbye.

Theo and Julian held each other close. Despite being well into their adulthood, they were now no longer anyone's children. 


End file.
